The Veiled Prophet

XVI

It was neither Inarius nor the other angels who struck first. That honor went to the city of Kehjan.

The sentries sensed their approach just before dawn the next day, but Uldyssian noted them several minutes before that. He did not immediately tell his followers, or even his friends, instead trying to think of what he could do to prevent so many innocent lives from being lost.

Unfortunately, little came to mind.

When word came from the sentries, all he could do was summon Mendeln and the others he trusted for command and quickly discuss whatever suggestions they might have to stopping the impending disaster. They had barely more to offer than he had and, with the exception of Mendeln, saw no reason to be so concerned over the fate of the Kehjanis.

“You tried to come in peace,” Serenthia pointed out. “They never gave you the chance. If not for Malic’s evil, there would’ve been some other reason to betray you. Look how they attacked you even in the palace of Prince Ehmad!”

“We will crush them easily,” Saron piped up.

Jonas nodded agreement, adding, “Once they see they can’t win, Master Uldyssian, they’ll go running. That’ll save a lot of their lives.”

“But not enough,” the son of Diomedes returned. “Not nearly enough…” He suddenly looked up. “How the angels and demons must be laughing right now.” Uldyssian wondered especially about the one identified as Tyrael. This was surely what he desired. Keep all the abominations at one another’s throats until his brethren swept down and cleansed the world of them.

And Inarius? Inarius would not be idle. Curiously, Uldyssian was most concerned about him—and the fact that Rathma had not returned. He glanced at Mendeln and saw something in his brother’s eyes that indicated the same thoughts had crossed his mind as well.

One of the sentries touched his mind. Uldyssian shoved aside all thought about Inarius…at least for the moment.

“Get everyone ready. Make sure those who need to be protected are. At my signal, we move to meet them.” He would not allow his foes to dictate this battle; come what may, Uldyssian would take responsibility for his part in what was to happen.

Saron and Jonas ran off to relay his orders to others. Serenthia started to follow but then faltered. She looked to Uldyssian.

He knew immediately what disturbed her. Achilios had left them during the night, but only to keep the edyrem—from whom he was shielded—from growing disturbed by his presence. However, the hunter had promised that he would be near when the conflict began.

“He’s not far,” Uldyssian reassured her. While the son of Diomedes was in great part responsible for keeping Achilios hidden from everyone else, he maintained a link with his friend that even Serenthia could not create. “He’ll be at our side, so to speak.”

She gave him a grateful nod and raced off.

Mendeln glanced at his brother. “This does not feel right, Uldyssian. In many ways, these people do not deserve what will happen.”

“We can’t do anything about it. It’s out of our hands, Mendeln. We need to defend ourselves, not only for our sakes but for the world’s.”

“But if we slaughter hundreds for no good reason other than that they were blinded by Inarius and others, of what value will that world be?”

Uldyssian shrugged his question off. “That might not even matter.”

He strode off before they could argue. Mendeln followed at his heels, silent. Uldyssian knew that despite his sibling’s words, Mendeln would fight as best he could.

No one would be spared bloodying his hands…

The sky thundered even though the clouds did not warrant it. Mendeln sensed that the mages were beginning what they thought their grand spellwork. The Kehjani were not stupid; they knew the stories of Uldyssian and the edyrem. They knew the tales of Toraja, Istani, and other places where Uldyssian had brought down the Triune. They also had the supposed betrayal in their own ranks, the blame falling on Mendeln’s brother.

The spellcasters would want this over quickly, and the guilds and nobles would back them on this entirely. If this Prince Ehmad was also dead, as Uldyssian suspected, the last vestiges of hope for anything other than war were indeed gone. However the mages struck, it would be fearsome.

And if that failed, an army of thousands was ready to die in the mistaken belief that the edyrem were coming to raze their homes and slaughter their families.

The angels and demons had done their work oh so well.

Despite his understanding of all this, Mendeln summoned what knowledge and power he had gained in preparation for his own efforts against the Kehjani. He could ill afford to let his doubts keep him from standing beside his brother. No matter what the outcome, nothing was more important.

Now, in addition to the thunder, the trees shook as if caught in a violent wind that neither he nor the edyrem could feel. What Mendeln could detect, though, were the magical energies building up before Uldyssian’s followers.

But the edyrem were not idle, either. Under the silent direction of their leader, they were combining their wills toward two goals. The first was shielding themselves against whatever it was that the mages intended to throw at them. The second, naturally, had to do with Uldyssian’s intentions for striking back. Although he had no idea what his sibling intended, Mendeln shivered at the thought of Uldyssian’s retribution. If he should lose control at some point, there was no telling what devastation he might cause.

Something was happening. Whatever it was the mage clans intended to unleash, it was coming. He readied the dagger.

Mendeln! came Trag’Oul’s voice. It struck the human like thunder amplified a thousand times. Caught up in their own efforts, the edyrem—even Uldyssian—failed to notice his fall.

Mendeln! repeated the dragon. As he sought to recover, Uldyssian’s brother noticed with shock that for the first time since he had been confronted by the creature, Trag’Oul’s voice sounded strained.

Struggling to keep his head from exploding, Mendeln acknowledged the dragon. Immediately, he felt the celestial being seize upon that acknowledgment. You must help me, quickly! I can barely keep hold! Come!

Trag’Oul’s words penetrated, especially the last one. Mendeln immediately sought to protest. I cannot leave Uldyssian! I cannot—

But his words were for naught.

The ground started to shake. It came as no surprise to Uldyssian, who knew what the mages intended. What was more devastating to any enemy force than an earthquake? Rifts began to open up around the edyrem. Trees toppled over. A wall of dirt arose in the south.

Linked to his followers, Uldyssian drew upon their power as much as his own. With but a glare at the rising ground, he forced it level again. With not even so much as that, he stilled first the trees, then the land beneath the edyrem’s feet.

And with a single contemptuous gesture, the son of Diomedes caused the cracks to mend themselves so that they looked as if they had never even been.

Uldyssian appreciated the incredible forces that the mages had put into the creation of their great spell and appreciated more the consternation that likely was going on at that very moment. They had surely expected some injury and death among the edyrem, not this simple shrugging off of their might.

He allowed himself a smile, albeit one with little pleasure in it. Uldyssian hoped that the Kehjanis would realize their hopelessness and retreat, but he did not expect it. The masters of the city would either try something more desperate—and, thus, possibly actually more effective—or simply drive their army into the edyrem’s waiting arms.

Either way, the blood was soon to flow.

Uldyssian found himself as impatient with the situation as he was disgusted by it. All that would ultimately happen here would be to waste time and strength against those who were not the true threat. He knew that Mendeln felt that way and understood his brother’s earlier reluctance, but what could he really do? Simply put a stop to the oncoming collision between his people and the Kehjani?

The thought so distracted Uldyssian that it made him stumble and nearly lose his link to the others. As he quickly regained his attention, the son of Diomedes considered what he had just so casually asked himself.

Could he somehow keep this battle from happening? It was not as if that would put an end to the conflict. There were both Inarius and this angelic host that was—seemingly still fooled by whatever it was Trag’Oul was doing. Neither of them would be possible for Uldyssian to avoid, especially the Prophet, who had the most to lose or win.

Certain of their impending victory and ignorant of how little it might mean, the edyrem eagerly pressed forward. They were almost at the point of not even being able to be stopped by Uldyssian. He knew, therefore, that he had to do whatever he hoped to do as swiftly as possible.

For that, he needed coordination between those he could best trust. Uldyssian simultaneously reached out to Serenthia and his other trusted commanders, informing them in an instant of his hopes. He received the expected disbelief from many, including even the merchant’s daughter.

You may only be opening us up to the mages, she was quick to point out. This’ll definitely put a strain on our own defenses.

It can’t be helped! he shot back. And it will be done!

No one argued further with him. The edyrem would live and die by his judgment, a painful understanding on Uldyssian’s part. However, there was nothing he could do to change that.

Be my shield, he ordered the others. They willingly obeyed. That allowed Uldyssian to focus on letting his mind separate from his body. He shot forth, his view racing through toward the Kehjani defenders.

It did not take him long to locate the physical aspect of the capital’s attack. The soldiers moved in a fine, orderly fashion, but Uldyssian could sense their wariness and even growing anxiety. They knew that something had been attempted by the spellcasters, something that had utterly failed. They also knew that the enemy they approached was responsible somehow for the slaughter of many of their leaders.

But still they came to defend their homes.

That did much to instill in Uldyssian a determination that he would change what was supposed to be. Inarius would not have his bloodbath…at least, not this one.

He flew beyond the marching ranks to where the officers rode, then far past them. Over the walls he dove, then deep into the city’s heart. It was there at last that he found the true commanders of the Kehjani force, the mages.

There were twenty, and the colors of their robes indicated that they were of that many different clans. Most were old, but where their bodies were withered, they radiated magic such as Uldyssian had rarely seen.

Most formed a five-sided pattern in the midst of which they were now summoning up fantastic energies that set the stone chamber aglow like a sinister rainbow. A handful of others stood to the side in heated discussion, likely trying to decide just what to do next in the face of such a grand debacle.

Some of those in the second gathering stilled as he neared. They looked about uneasily, perhaps sensing his astral presence. Then an elderly figure with a beard nearly down to the floor snapped his fingers, demanding their return to their conversation.

Those in this chamber were the ones with whom Uldyssian first had to deal. These mages represented the backbone of any fight mustered by the Kehjani. Of course, he did not want to harm them any more than he wished to harm the soldiers; the spellcasters, too, reacted because of treachery.

But what could he do that would not demand their deaths? He had little time to think, for it was clear that the mages were nearly ready to strike again. This time, they would try to learn from their mistake. If there were only some way to simply cut them off from the battle.

It was so simple that Uldyssian could not believe he had not thought of it sooner. The only question was whether it was actually possible.

There was, of course, only one way to find out.

He withdrew from the building that housed the spellcasters’ efforts, surveying as he went all that was taking place nearby. By the time Uldyssian situated himself where he thought best, he knew where all the mages involved were located. It almost made him laugh when he discovered that there were many more spread throughout the areas surrounding the initial groups and that those were involved in creating defenses for the citadel itself. Uldyssian had crossed those defenses without even noticing them or apparently setting any off.

His confidence increased, Uldyssian called upon the others. He wanted to make this work the first time.

They need simply to be contained, he told them. I will guide you.

They fed him their power. He was slightly surprised by how much they gave and realized that it was far more than he even needed. The might of his followers grew by leaps and bounds.

But would it ultimately be enough when the true threat came to Sanctuary?

A swelling of magical energy brought him back to the situation at hand. Reprimanding himself for the distraction, the son of Diomedes stared at the mages’ sanctum. Then, imagining his present form had a hand, he cupped it over the distant but foreboding building.

And under his hand, what seemed the upper half of an eggshell took shape over the structure. It grew to encompass all that he desired, then descended. As it did, the shell turned translucent, then invisible.

Uldyssian nodded in satisfaction. He sensed the spellcasters only now noticing that something was amiss. Their consternation rose as they tested what could not be seen but completely enveloped them. They would find that they could not leave by magical or physical means, nor could they make any contact whatsoever with those outside. To onlookers, the sanctum would appear empty, desolate.

More important, if Uldyssian had done as he hoped, the attack they had just been conjuring would be no more. He tested that hope, seeking any trace of the surge he had earlier noticed.

But there was nothing.

Uldyssian returned to his body. As he opened his eyes, he silently informed the others of his success. The soldiers of Kehjan had no magical support. They were truly like lambs to the slaughter, save that Uldyssian had no desire for that.

Just this once, he prayed. Just this once, let there be no deaths.

He reached to all the edyrem now, asking of them what they could give. His reasons for this he made apparent, so that they would understand. There were no protests, just some surprise and a little regret. However, this was what Uldyssian wished, and so they would obey.

Again, he felt guilty that they trusted him so much.

Once more, Uldyssian sought out the Kehjani soldiers. It did not take long at all, for they were nearly within sight of his followers. He had little time to plan; it had to happen now.

It was a matter of wills, his—magnified by the contributions of each of the edyrem—against theirs. The soldiers numbered more than his following, but they were merely men and had not been introduced to the gifts they carried within. Thus, there was no comparison at all between the two forces.

But still, Uldyssian would not know if he could succeed until he actually tried.

Sleep, he commanded the Kehjani.

What seemed a light, pure snow—snow in a land seething with heat—showered the oncoming army. Their perfect marching faltered as many looked up in bewilderment. Uldyssian sensed apprehension on the part of the officers, for they knew that this could be nothing good.

The first man to be touched by the gentle flakes yawned. He stopped marching, then dropped to his knees. By this time, several others in the ranks had joined him. An officer rushed up to a pair and raised his whip…then followed their example.

One by one, then by the dozens—then the hundreds—the army of Kehjan set down their weapons, fell quietly to their knees, and simply went to sleep. They did not lie down but just knelt there in row upon row, their arms dangling, their heads cocked to one side or another. Eyes closed and mouths slack, the soldiers rested peacefully.

Those mounted, including the commanders, had no time to flee from their comrades’ fate. Riders merely went limp, slumping over in the saddle. Their horses did as they often were inclined to when sleeping; they lowered their heads and slept standing up.

An entire army still faced the edyrem, but it was one that would not awaken until Uldyssian commanded it.

From among his followers, there was at first silence. It was not that they were disappointed in the lack of any bloodshed but that most were not certain that if by shouting out, they would somehow shatter the spell. Once Uldyssian reassured them that this would not happen, the cries rose from everywhere. The edyrem cheered the incredible sight, an image made all the more arresting by the faint snow cover on helmets and shoulders.

Uldyssian ended the shower of sleep-inducing flakes. He smiled gratefully, thankful that his prayer had come to pass—and then wondered just to whom he had been praying. Not Inarius or the Three, certainly.

But that hardly mattered at the moment. What did was the welcome vision that he had made come to pass. There would be no horrific fight between his people and Kehjan. The situation was temporary, but it would last long enough, he hoped.

Long enough to deal with Inarius.

Mendeln cursed at the dragon and at matters in general. He swore with a passion he rarely displayed. It had much to do with once more being treated as if he had no say in what was happening. Each time someone desired to use him, he was snatched away from his brother’s side and dropped wherever they pleased. That the same thing had happened to others did in no way assuage him. At the moment, Mendeln felt particularly picked on.

His fury was such that he did not even at first pay any mind to Trag’Oul’s distress, clearly evident in the creature’s voice.

Mendeln…Mendeln…can you feel him? I can barely…maintain a link.

“Return me to my brother! I am sick of this! How many times must I bow to you and Rathma? I am grateful for what I have learned, but this is not—”

Listen to me! demanded the dragon in a tone that cut off any further protest by the human. Look about you! See where you are!

Uldyssian’s brother did just that—and only then registered that the blackness in which he floated was not the domain of Trag’Oul. This place radiated such emptiness that Mendeln suddenly clutched his arms tight around his body and wished fitfully for the relative cheer of the dragon’s home.

Do not fall prey to it! If you do, not only Rathma but you, too, will be lost. Pay heed!

Trag’Oul’s warning began to sink in. Trying to focus, Mendeln held the dagger to his face and focused on its reassuring light. Some of the fear began to recede.

“Where—where is this?” he finally managed to ask. “And did you say that Rathma is here somewhere?”

Here…and trapped possibly until the end of all. Sent to this accursed place by Inarius as a reward for seeking to do the right thing.

Mendeln had feared that the Ancient’s visit to his father would prove to be a fool’s errand, but even he could not imagine the angel so vicious as to condemn his offspring to this hellish abyss. “What is this place?”

Trag’Oul’s voice sounded fainter, as if he were farther away now. What could be called the remotest part of existence! A place so far from all else that to be trapped here is to be cursed forever.

New chills ran through Mendeln as he heard this. He imagined floating here for all eternity, never to see or hear anything again.

The strain…the strain of reaching out all the way here is…is growing worse. Mendeln ul-Diomed, you must act as the link between myself…and Rathma…if we are to save him.

While Uldyssian’s brother more or less understood what the dragon explained to him, a point that Trag’Oul had inadvertently mentioned made him very anxious. The dragon had just revealed that he was not even with Mendeln but rather had sent the human here alone. Trag’Oul kept a link with the son of Diomedes but no more.

And if that link—already strained, as the celestial being had informed him—broke, Mendeln’s fears of being lost forever would come very true.

Concentrate! Trag’Oul demanded almost angrily. Do not give in to the fear!

Mendeln tried his best to focus. Trag’Oul was powerful. He would not let the human be lost. The dragon was very concerned about his pupils. Was he not doing his best also to rescue Rathma?

“Let this be done,” the human said to the darkness. Then, in more of a mutter, “If it can be…”

It is up to you now…you know Rathma…you must seek his presence out…you must call him to you. I cannot do more than I have…there is so much else going on.

Despite his curiosity, Mendeln dared not ask to what other tasks the dragon referred. Instead, he turned his mind completely to seeking the Ancient, using the bond that Rathma and he had forged through their roles as mentor and student. He called out to Rathma and sought with the dagger to locate the lost soul.

It was difficult to measure time in this place. Mendeln felt as if he spent an entire lifetime seeking Rathma, seeking and finding nothing.

And then…

Mendeln.

It was faint…so very faint. Mendeln searched in every possible direction but again found nothing. He held the dagger everywhere, silently calling over and over again.

Mendeln.

There! He focused the dagger in the direction from which he believed the call had come. It sounded like Rathma, but he still was not certain.

His name came once more, now a bit stronger. Mendeln! Where—

“I have him!” he all but roared to Trag’Oul.

Use your power to draw him near. Hurry! They suspect the ruse!

Who “they” were, Uldyssian’s brother feared to know. He chose to ignore the comments, instead following the dragon’s suggestions about Rathma.

Clutching the dagger with both hands, he threw all he had learned into summoning Rathma to him. The dagger flared bright, its light comforting in the emptiness.

Rathma, he called in his head. Rathma…

Then Mendeln felt something drawing near. He could see nothing but was certain that it was attracted by his spellwork. A faint presence that reminded him of the Ancient grew noticeable.

Something formed in the emptiness. A sphere. It was opaque, almost as if covered by frost. This surely had to be Rathma’s magical prison.

But then Mendeln sensed something else. There was still that about the oncoming sphere that hinted of Rathma…but also something else.

Something sinister…and familiar.

Mendeln pointed the dagger directly at the sphere and altered his spellwork.

The frostlike coating burned away, and the maddened face of Lilith glared out at him.

“Mendeln!” Her expression immediately shifted, turning from bestial to beguiling. The rest of her transformed as well, turning more human. She resembled Lylia again, but also Serenthia and other women Mendeln had known and admired over the years. “Dear, sweet Mendeln…my savior…”

His heart pounded. Mendeln knew that it was as much because of her sorcery as her unearthly beauty, but he found it difficult to reject her presence. She was helpless now, entirely dependent upon his might. For him, Lilith would do anything, be anything. Whoever he desired. She was willing, Uldyssian’s brother could see that in her wondrous eyes. They beckoned and promised. They called to him.

Lilith stretched forth her hand. Mendeln started to reach to her.

The dagger flared as if of its own doing. In its even more brilliant light, Mendeln saw her again as she truly was.

Disgust at his own weakness overtook him. “No…no more from you, harpy!”

He uttered words of power, and the sphere shot backward into the darkness. The demoness’s shriek was terrible to hear, filled with both fury and despair. Lilith cursed his name even as she called for him.

And then Mendeln could hear the temptress no more.

The shock of confronting her—especially since she was supposed to be dead—shook Mendeln so much that he nearly demanded that Trag’Oul immediately return him to his world. However, just as he became determined to do this, he felt Rathma’s faint presence again.

Mendeln hesitated but could not risk abandoning this one last hope. He repeated his earlier magic, using the dagger to draw whatever it was he had sensed.

A breath later, another sphere drifted close. Like the first, it was covered with the peculiar, frostlike coating. Keeping wary, Mendeln removed the latter as he had previously.

Before him floated a weary but grateful Rathma.

“I have him!” he shouted to Trag’Oul.

Yes…I know.

And suddenly, Mendeln felt himself propelled through the emptiness. As stunned as he was by the effect, he had the presence of mind to keep focused on Rathma.

Vertigo struck the younger son of Diomedes—and then he landed on something hard.

Above him, the glittering stars that were the dragon proved a welcome sight.

And a voice from his right proved even more welcome. Gasping for breath himself, Inarius’s son said, “You have no idea, Mendeln…my gratitude…for that risk.”

“It was Trag’Oul who was able to send me there,” Uldyssian’s brother pointed out as he turned to face the Ancient. “He who managed to find where you had been cast in the first place.”

Rathma nodded. “And to him, too, I am grateful, but do not underestimate your part. The risk you took was monumental. You could have easily been lost there…” He shook his head. “To be alone in the void—forever—I could imagine no worse fate, not even death.”

As Rathma talked, Mendeln watched him carefully, seeking any sign that he knew what had happened just before his rescue. Yet Lilith’s offspring gave no sign that he had noticed the nearby presence of his murderous mother, who Mendeln had to assume had been drawn to his spell because of her physical ties to Rathma.

Lilith alive…but, as Rathma had pointed out, suffering a fate surely worse than death. It was also one she could not possibly escape. After all, it had only been because of Mendeln and the dragon that Rathma had had any chance.

He suddenly wondered why Trag’Oul had been silent all this time. Surely, their success was worthy of some celebration.

Even as Mendeln thought that, Rathma stood. The Ancient stared up at the constellation, his expression not at all pleasant.

“What is it, Trag?” Rathma demanded. “What’s happening?”

There was a long, worrisome pause before the celestial answered. When he did, it was in a tone of weakness and defeat that shook Mendeln as even the dark emptiness had not.

The strain…was too…much…I could not maintain the…the ploy at the same time…we may have saved you…only to condemn you…with the rest of us…Rathma…

“What do you mean?” he asked, sounding every bit as concerned as Mendeln felt. “What ploy? What happened?”

Sanctuary is no…no longer shielded from their…sight! The Heavenly Host knows they were misled. Trag’Oul’s grief at his failure was so very evident. The winged warriors are closing in on our world.